


There is a kind of love called maintenence

by JoCarthage



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Do we even need to say spoilers on something like this?, Gen, I will, Kid Fic, One Shot, Poe background, Spoilers, but even the character tags for this fandom are a kind of spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe Dameron knew Ben Solo growing up. This made it hard to take him seriously later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is a kind of love called maintenence

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read the extended universe and so am guessing at so many things. Poe's line on Jakku was where I fell in love with this movie--it was so dorky and on point, and I wanted to know where he got the guts to talk like that to Kylo Ren. This story was my answer. The title is from U.A. Fanthorpe's Atlas, and isn't meant to imply slash. I just think Poe loves everyone like he loves his x-wing: www.jeanettewinterson.com/poem/u-a-fanthorpe/

A 12-year-old Poe Dameron cocked a hip against the door to the playroom. The sounds of slippered feet and screams of laughter tapping his ears alongside the metal sounds of the engine-repair room across the hall. It had been a storage shed in a past life, before that maybe an ante-chamber for a long-dead society. He still wasn’t clear what this complex had been in the time before the Empire rose and pulled out so many cultures by the roots.

He thought he preferred what the Rebellion did with the spaces they fought for and won. This one had soft banners on the walls with bright colors—the best they could do for the kids who carried all their hopes on their tiny shoulders. He was thinking he might have to break up a fight between little Rey and one of the bigger boys when a small body collided with his hip. He only looked down when he felt a yank, seeing a mop of black hair caught in the buttons along the side of his pants and a tearful face tugging at the cloth around them.

“Hey, hey, Ben, hold up,” he said as the little boy tried to jerk away, hair stretching and pulling tears to his eyes. His lip was quivering and Poe got to work, rough hands made nimble by the speed at which he was working.

“Just give us a moment, ok? Hold still—Ben. I mean it.”He did for a moment, big eyes wide. His mouth popped open to ask a question, then stilled. Poe caught his wide eyes, lashes stuck together with tears, so he quieted his voice and asked:

“Where are you rushing off to?”  
  
“I’ve got to get cousin Rey, we’re having a practice with Uncle Luke.”

“Got it, well, we’re almost done here,” his fingers finished unlooping the last strand of hair from the last button. Before he could say anything else, Ben galumphed away, tugging on Rey’s arm and whirling her out of the room, narrowly avoiding a second collision.

Poe took one more glance around, letting the clatter of blocks, the sound of small feet on the stone floor, and the giggles of well-fed, safe children fill his ears. Then he turned around, heading back out to the engine yard. He had lessons as well.

—

Poe Dameron was 16 and wiping engine grease off his knuckles while he walked down a narrow metal hallway. It was blessedly empty for the moment, though the sounds of the work around him never left him truly alone. The sound of water in the shower left him feeling almost alone, but there was nothing that left him feeling clearer than spaceflight. But he had exams to pass before he could do that without his trainer on his tail.

He had high hopes for this upcoming shower though; the heat here was good enough to leave him rebel red all-over. He was concentrating on the grease notched in his lifeline and considering wiping the remainder down his pants, when a small body slammed into him and bounced off one of the thin metal walls. The clang of metal belts and buckles made Poe long for the shower, but he stopped and looked the kid over. He was wearing a lot of black these days, most of it cast offs from the latest group to join the alliance. They had some kind of monk culture that involved a lot of cloth, and it looked like he’d turned it into some kind of baggy pants and a tunic-thing. Poe shook his head—he didn’t get a lot of choices in what he wore in the cockpit. Slim enough to get through the door and not dangly-enough to get caught on the way out was all he cared about. 

“Hey, Ben, how’s it going?” he asked and the wild cloud of black tendrils, clutching a novel-tablet and gusting breaths across it, became a face, wide-eyed and scattershot. He got a distracted nod, and the kid tried to move around him. He took a big step back, putting himself back in front of the kid.

“Hey—Ben. You ok?” Ben’s eyes were wide, not fear, but to hold the brimming tears.

“I don’t,” he coughed, tried to scrape his eyes dry under cover of covering the cough. “I just,” he coughed again and Poe put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. He collapsed into him in a hug, tablet smacking against his front and pushing air from his lungs. Poe put his arms over his shoulders, keeping his long hair away from the buttons on his sleeves.

“What’s up?” he asked, and Ben shook his head into his sternum. Poe tried to think, then asked:  
  
“Is it Rey?” and Ben froze, pulled back, eyes wide by slightly drier this time.

“How did you know?” he asked.

Poe shook his head. “I think everyone here is worried that Luke left. That he took Rey with him? No bueno. He’ll be back, though; it’s only a short-range trip.” No one thought that; but Ben shook his head. “It’s not good enough, he shouldn’t get to _take_ her; she should get to stay,” and then he ducked his head, “if she wants.”

Poe stayed silent; he wasn't sure how far he could go in criticizing the Jedi to his own kin. He tried to redirect: 

“Hey, did you hear? I’m piloting in next week’s supply run,” this time Ben’s eyes were wide, his mouth half-quirked in a smile. It had taken months of begging and acing the prelims, but he’d gotten the spot. He just hoped he could hold his ship together—the supply run was for parts on the ship he was taking to get them.

“That’s awesome! Are you bringing BB-8?” Ben’s face transformed entirely, all grins and wide eyes. It was a look Poe had seen little and less since Luke left.

“I am,” he replied. “We’ve been training together, and I think it’s going to stick.” He cocked his head. “Want to go see him?” Ben’s head was nodding over and over even as he stuck his tablet into a pocket in his robes, hands fumbling over the leather tying the pocket closed.

“I think I’ve figured out how to get him to purr—you have to touch his plates just right…” Poe cast one last thought to that shower, then the hallway began to fill as everyone got off their shifts. He let the kid talk, watched him crane his head around corners, perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of the friendly droid. The kid needed a pet. Poe knew they moved too much and had to little to make that a reality for him. He felt a weight on his lungs at that.

He tucked his arm around Ben’s shoulders and turned them around, heading back into the underground maze leading to the x-wing bay.

—

A 21-year-old Poe jumped out of his x-wing, listening to the sounds of the remains of his raiding party opening their hatches, medics on stand-by. As he squatted down to see BB-8 lower himself to the ground he saw the new laser scars on his ride. He closed his eyes; that fight had been very close. he heard a cough, and opened his eyes again. Ben Solo nodded to him, eyes fixed on BB-8, novel-tablet in his hands.

He didn’t ask how the mission went; he would have been in the control room with his mother; he would have seen. Poe couldn’t meet his eyes, so he watched his hands tap out a rhythm on his knees, crouching, watching each movement of BB-8’s connection to the x-wing slowly come undone. Once he could roll freely, they both stood and walked to the front of the craft.

They looked at each other for a moment, then Ben put a hand on his shoulder, dropping it after a beat. Poe couldn’t feel it through the space numbness, but he also had no room for words for the teen right now. They both turned, walking towards the debrief area. BB-8 rolled forward between them, butting its head under Ben’s hand, which moved back and forth around it. The purr was the first sound Poe had heard that didn't make his teeth ache.

They got to the bay doors and stood in silence, watching them open. Ben turned to him, started to say something, then clicked his teeth together. Once the door was open enough to stoop under, Poe moved to do it and Ben followed.

“I started practicing with Uncle Luke’s lightsaber today,” he said, and Poe started. His voice had dropped; it must have been months, not just weeks, since they last spoke. “It feels strange, like it should be someone else’s. Did your x-wing feel like that, when you took it over?”  
  
Poe shook his head, not because he disagreed, but because he didn’t have an opinion on that right now. He took a breath and a moment to think about it, knowing the kid was watching. It was strange for him to consider the relationship between a baby Jedi and his lightsaber and a middling-pilot and his x-wing.

“I don’t think its the same,” he said, hearing long spaces between each word. He wondered if he sounded shocky; he felt shocky. “I get to customize. Make it faster and easier to use, set up the programs so they fit me.” He took a breath. “Not that that helped.”  
  
Ben’s hand returned to his shoulder, and he shrugged it off. Ben held his hand to his chest, eyes watching Poe’s shoulder and not meeting his eyes.

“No one is going to blame you for what happened,” he said, with a sureness Ben found disturbing. 

“They should. I should be better; this wouldn’t have happened if a Jedi was running the show.”

Poe realized he was walking alone; Ben had frozen in the hallway.

“That’s—that’s not fair,” he said, “I’m training as fast as I can, but I’m just not ready—“

Poe turned and looked him in the eyes, forcing them to meet his. Still so young, and at that moment Poe could not remember ever feeling that young in his entire life. “Look—Ben. It’s not on you to fix that; I just need to do better.”  
  
Ben said something low under his voice, and Poe cocked his head. “Hmm?” he asked.

“I think you’re one of the best pilots in the galaxy,” Ben said, and Poe felt his blood freeze.

“That’s nice kid, but my pilots died today because I’m not.” He pushed past Ben, not hearing if he called out after him. He shoved through one set of intricately carved stone doors, and then another. He made it to his quarters just in time to lose it over the toilet, showing up all the space food he’d crunched during the battle, trying to keep his energy up. He replaced his liquids with water, then with something he’d gotten off-planet that promised to get him away from himself for a few hours. 

The next morning, he heard a knock on his door. He was scraping his teeth, already in his work suit, ready to debrief in the councilroom. He let it ring, then gave up and got it. It was Ben, a big canister of water rolling over and over between his hands. “It was a stupid thing to say,” he said as soon as Poe got the door open. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry,” Poe shook his head.  


“It wasn’t, and I wish I could ask you in, but I’m due to report in in 20 minutes and I need to finish prepping,”   
  
“Oh, ok,” Ben said, backing away. Poe caught him around the wrist, stepping out into the hallway, even though it echoes the sound of his boot back like a recrimination. “Thanks for the water,” 

Ben nodded, and fled.

—

Poe was 25, in a bar negotiating for parts to get him back to base when he overheard a couple at the bar. He held up a hand with his dealer, and pointed to the bar. The being nodded, and he made his way to the crowd. He signaled for the bartender and kept listening.  


“A dozen dead?”  
  
“A dozen _kids_.”

The bartender came over and Poe ordered the most complicated thing he could think of, glancing at his dealer. The man was on his comms-unit; self-occupied.

“What do you mean—kids?”  
  
“They had some kind of school for Jedi-itos, and some kind of group took them out.” Poe kept his face flat, his hand steady on his drink. He flipped on his recorder and focused it on the conversation. On his screen he was tall being, grey-rubbery skin over a long muzzle with two-fingered hands was talking to a orange pole with a cloud on top, or something.

“They found them on some island, on some outpost planet, and took out the whole bunch.”  
  
“How’d you hear?” The orange pole asked. Xe was turning a king of indigo from the cloud down—an emotion marker of some kind? Poe’s drink was in front of him, and he pulled out his credits unit.

“There’s a holo of it; they filmed it. Wanted everyone to know.” The grey being made a wuffling sound, like xe was trying to clear xir throat. Then xe made a fist and slammed it on the bar. The bar didn’t move—it was used to such treatment—but some of the other patrons eased away and the music lulled before picking up. He pulled out a video unit and showed the pole something, Poe couldn’t see what; but he heard the screams and the sound of a light-saber.  


“Who took credit?” the pole asked.

“They’re calling themselves the Knights of Ren; hooligans if you ask me.”

“Nothing hooligan-ish about killing kids; they sound like terrorists to me.”  
  
The grey being nodded and then buried xis muzzle into xis tankard. The conversation seemed to be over. Poe clicked off the recorder, and made his way back to his dealer, watching himself walk all the way. He made the deal, and did it well, but the entire time, his vision was clouded with swirling whisps of black and the sound of children screaming.

—

Poe was 30 and covered in the sands of Jakku when he next saw Ben outside of a holo-cast. He had a moment when he wanted to have it all out, shout at him, yank his get-up off and drag him home by his ear. He decided against it after he saw a stormtrooper drag a woman into the dirt before shooting her in the head.

He let hate build from his diaphragm, fill his lungs until he could spit from it. He let those swirls of black fade his vision until he was a few behind back from himself and could order his finger to pull the trigger without doing it himself. He watched the energy freeze. He watched himself get knocked to the ground, handcuffed. He didn’t even feel the metal slip from his fingers was he lost his gun or cut into his wrists as he was dragged before Ben.

Poe thought it wouldn’t be bad to die like this, away from himself, and was ready to do it in the best way he knew how. Then Ben squatted down in front of him and cocked his head, and Poe snapped back in; all he could think of was the kid's hair. How much work would it have taken to get all of that kid’s hair into his helmet? That boy could join the dark side but if he'd had the guts to cut his hair, Poe would eat BB-8’s motherboard.

Poe was kneeling and thought he should be quavering, shaking before this menace mask in a cape. But the only words that came to mind were addressed to the kid inside the mask, the kid with the eyes brimming and hair caught in his buttons. He said:

“Do I talk first or you talk first? I talk first?”

He wasn’t ready to die, not like this, if only because he needed to know if Ben was still there. He waited for his words, and when they came, the muzzle he’d put on himself warped his voice beyond recognition. Poe entertained himself, thinking of the pre-teen Ben speaking them, all puffed up, not catching what the man in front of him was saying. When he was being dragged into the cargo-bay, he imagined the teenaged Ben was in front of him, hand trickily petting BB-8 into a purring fit. This fantasy lasted until Ben gave the order for the slaughter, and then Poe Dameron began to scream.

—

Poe Dameron was 30 and strapped to some kind of metal frame, with the floating black torture toolkit arranged in his line of sight. He’d been sleeping, or in a coma, or too far from himself to come back, but then Ben was there and he snapped right back in. He wished he hadn’t.  


“I didn’t know we had the best rebel pilot in the galaxy on board,” the kid mumbled through his death-mask. Poe felt his stomach join his shoes. He hoped the kid didn't remember him, didn’t want this whole conversation to be part of the same memory-stream as the ones before it. He didn't know what else to hope; freedom wasn't in the cards, he could tell from the fear-stink of the room.

When Ben reached his clawed hand out, Poe tried to demand his mind stay on task. He wanted to not die here, but even more, he wanted to not give Ben the experience of breaking him. He thought about the kid’s novels, his hand-made robes, his tears. When those memories fell to pieces beneath the waves of power coming from the man in front of him, he focused on his own details in them. 

He pressed his mind against the feeling of buttons beneath his fingers; the grease on his life-line; the thump of his boots on the landing bay floor; BB-8’s purring. When that broke, its sound merging with the ever-present hum of the destroyer around him, he gave up. Poe’s mind fell between his black-gloved fingers, through the floor, and out into that quiet, that lasting silence of space. He knew he’d lost to Kylo Ren, but he kept himself far enough away not to care.

—

Poe Dameron was 30 and bombing a planet that ate stars and spit out death. He’d heard it was Ben who had given the order to end the Republic. He’d heard Han was going in after him; good luck. He swooped and dived, feeling the white blankness battle even as his gut tightened. He glanced at the ground, heaving as it was beneath the blows of his bombs. He hoped Rey was safe. She had grown into a cool kid. Her eyes now held a seriousness that told him that she’d left tears in her past along with her memories. Maybe it was her white clothes, but thinking about her made him feel like he’d eaten an ember of slow-burning hope.

When the planet imploded and he rocketed away, he tried to hope it had taken Kylo Ren with it. But he couldn't. The space between the stars looked too much like tendrils of black hair. He focused on the new light of the stars; he let the blackness fade from his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are life and love and everything. Let me know what you liked!


End file.
